After Hours
by Cavebear Stroud
Summary: Poor Darius. Life isn't any fun, despite the companionship of his cheerful brother Draven. He can never seem to have intelligent conversations, and even worse, he is finding it difficult to win. Follow Darius through his comedic adventures as he looks for fun, mental challenge, and victory. Not while he is on the job, of course. After hours...
1. Defeat

AFTER HOURS

CHAPTER 1—DEFEAT

If there is one thing I hate, it is losing. A loss is especially galling when it was avoidable, and doubly so when your brother's irresponsibility is responsible.

Winners: Fiora—Nunu—Ryze—Vayne—Soraka

Losers: Darius—Gragas—Brand—Draven—Braum

My four teammates were falling-down drunk, pissed out of their minds. Whose idea was it to crack open a couple of casks before the game? Draven's.

The replays showed me the fiasco in bot lane, where Draven was completely unable to catch a spinning axe, something he ought to be able do in his sleep. And his partner kept shouting "Shtand behind Braum!" and then jumping behind Draven instead of in front. A couple of times he even knocked my brother over with his door. Brand was just as bad. How can you miss a relatively slow target like Ryze with a huge blast radius fireball?

Nunu had dropped by to wish our team good luck before the match. In a matter of seconds tankards had been set up for him and for Willump. Gragas is deceptively fast when he wants to be.

"Don't get the yeti drunk—you won't like him when he's drunk," warned Nunu. But Draven insisted…and then later it turned out that Willump is even more of a drunken master than Gragas.

But what really bothers me is that Fiora, the Demacian snob, probably would have beaten me in lane even without Nunu's help. I was trying hard to carry the match all by myself, and time and again she let me overextend myself before riposting with lethal precision. I really, really hate losing to Demacians. I just want to get away and sulk. But here comes the catalyst of the disaster, grinning as usual. He sees that I am in a black mood, and would prefer to be left alone, but of course, he's my brother and we hang out all the time, so I won't be allowed any solitary brooding time.

"Don't fret, brother. We've got all weekend to have fun. I'll find us something that we can win, for sure for sure. Count on Draven. Oh yeah. I almost forgot…I signed us up for one of the cultural events celebrating Ionian Lunar New Year."

"You and culture don't mix," I observe, but my brother, as always, is oblivious to criticism.

"Don't have to. Draven is his own culture," grins the idiot. "Hey, this will be fun."

I sigh and acknowledge the bonds of kinship. "What have you signed us up for, exactly. Not a drinking contest, I hope."

"Nope. This will be child's play. As in, doubles ping-pong."

"Strength for glory, brother! Ping-pong is a game that favours the agile."

"We are agile. Watch me juggle axes."

"That's dextrous, not agile, Draven."

"Same thing. Come on, let's see who our competition is…or would you rather default."

My brother knows very well that quitting is out of the question for me. I shrug and follow him to the Ionian Pavilion.

Our first match is against Fizz and Gnar. Neither of them can see the tabletop without jumping his own height in the air.

"We can't lose," laughs Draven as our opponents bounce up and down.

But we do.

Our huge, powerful bodies, fine-tuned for strength and carnage, are constantly getting in each other's way, as we attempt to follow the little white ball.

With "Shugi shugi shugi" echoing in my ears, I turn my back on the annoying little munchkins and leave the table.

Our second match is against Ezreal and Lux, a cute couple. Ezreal is a dangerous player at this game, but he has chosen to play with the young woman he is dating rather than somebody of his skill level. Draven mercilessly smashes the ball right at Lux, over and over again. We demolish the young lovers, but unlike me, they clearly don't care how badly they lose. They leave the table hand in hand, whispering nauseatingly sweet nothings to each other as they go. The victory only makes me feel a tiny little bit better, however, because the opposition didn't care about defeat.

Round three pits Draven and I against the fan favourites, Irelia and Shen. We are getting better, as we learn to move around without bumping into each other, and we take them to three games, but the Ionians have been playing games like this all their lives and they know all the tricks. Draven tries to confuse them by switching hands—the man is ambidextrous after all—but to no avail. We lose a second match and are eliminated from any chance of victory.

"Shall we go now?" asks Draven.

"No, I want to at least beat the Demacian team," I reply.

"Fine," says my brother.

We have a bye in Round 4. Unbelievably, Irelia and Shen go down to defeat at the hands of Fiora and Vayne. Vayne's acrobatics and Fiora's flawless footwork carry the day. Shen bows deeply, showing the Demacians much respect. Fiora strikes a pose and gives the Ionians a fencer's salute with her paddle. If she's trying to be cute, she failed. If she's trying to be respectful, she failed.

I turn to Draven, who was also watching the match. "Did you learn anything about their style that we can exploit when we face them?

"They both have great legs," observes the idiot. "I think I'll try Draven's patented pick-up lines on Vayne after the match."

"What? You want to sleep with a Demacian?"

"Why not? Sleeping with a Demacian woman is still sleeping with a woman, which is better than not getting any. If you try it, you'll see I'm right. Why don't you hit on Fiora?"

"Drop dead. Let's just go beat them at ping-pong."

"Yessir."

But Draven has switched from Noxian Warrior mode to Clown Around for the Girls mode, and we soon find ourselves losing.

"Stop the playful banter, Draven, and just smash the ball down their throats," I beg.

But apparently Draven has the maturity of a boy, who can't hear a reference to balls and throats without breaking into laughter. His play gets even worse.

We lose again.

Fiora makes as if to start her fencer's salute with her paddle, but I interrupt her: "Don't you dare give me one of your condescending salutes."

She looks at me blankly for a moment, then replies coldly, "Très bien." She spins and walks off without another glance. Draven immediately moves in on Vayne.

"Hey Night Hunter, are you hunting for anyone in particular tonight?"

"Not looking for a run-in with any Noxians, sorry."

Draven is unfazed.

"Yeah, me neither. Are you looking for some Draven, though?"

Vayne looks surprised. It is clear that spending time with my brother has never even entered her mind. "I don't think so."

"How about some Ionian food?"

"I suppose," she admits. "Winning helps work up an appetite."

"Great. I just have to console my brother here, then I'll meet you in the buffet line."

Vayne, somewhat bemused, shakes her head, then wanders off.

"She wants me," says Draven, who always assumes that every woman he meets is in a state of perpetual need that can be satisfied by him and him alone. "Sorry, brother. I thought ping-pong would be easier. Don't worry, I'll make it up to you tomorrow. I promise."

He claps me on the shoulder and saunters off to continue his attempt at romance.

I'm doing a slow burn as I return to our apartment. I hate losing. I am looking forward to giving my brother an earful, but Draven doesn't make an appearance. Unbelievable. Can that idiot have been successful? It defies logic. I pound my fist against the wall over and over again until I finally fall asleep, the ping-pong tournament spinning around and around my brain.

Final rankings:

Fiora & Vayne

Irelia & Shen

Fizz & Gnar

Draven & Darius

Ezreal & Lux

Draven is back by breakfast time and tells me, "We're going to have a blast today. First, there is the pool party and the weather is going to be just perfect, then tonight, I have arranged dinner for us."

"What if I don't want to dine with you?"

"Don't be that way, brother. It's not just me, I've recruited some female companionship for the occasion." Seeing my face, he hastily adds, "Not Demacian."

"Pool party, eh?"

"Yeah, what could be better than showing off our perfect bods for the admiring crowds?"

"Winning."

"Fine, we'll find something to win when we get there."

The best that Draven could come up with: Chicken fights, also known as piggyback fights.

Wading around the pool with my brother's powerful thighs locked around my neck and his speedo jammed into the back of my head isn't really my idea of fun, but pulling others off their partners and dunking them is not bad, and the game does favour the strong. Jarvan and Sejuani go down—apparently riding a warboar is different than riding a Prince of Demacia—then Gangplank and Graves, then Tryndamere and Jayce—once the King of the Freljord went berserk Jayce found himself riding a bucking bronco and hardly needed Draven to make him fall off.

Next, Garen and Fiora. This should be fun. Fiora won't be able to rely upon her legendary footwork while perched on top of the bruiser's shoulders. The match starts as a cagey affair, as Garen and I maneuver for flanking attacks while Fiora and Draven try to grab each other's wrists.

And then, Draven makes himself unpopular with the Demacians (and popular with the spectators—obviously most of them are idiots too) by pulling off Fiora's bikini top. It may not have been deliberate, and the top may have been a little too ornamental and not robustly sporty, but this is my brother, never one to miss an opportunity. Fiora is crying foul, but Draven enjoys playing to the crowd, and he laughs it off with "I don't know why she is so mad—there's not much to see." Draven then tosses the piece of swimwear over his shoulder. Totally uncalled for.

"Don't you ever get tired of being a prime jerk?" I ask.

"She can jerk my prime beef jerky."

"Guess not. You do realise that we represent the dignity and honour of Noxus."

"Vous êtes des ignorants. Complètement nuls," declares Fiora, who can't seem to decide whether to just leave or to circumnavigate the two of us to retrieve her top.

"That's why I shave my chest—gotta show off my perfect powerful pectorals." Draven completely ignores Fiora as he answers me. Fiora decides to leave. She slips off of Garen with as much dignity as she can manage, and wades away, her hands across her breasts.

"I think you missed and shaved off another chunk of your brain instead."

"Hey, brother, I don't need brains when I have the rest of Draven. You can do the thinking for both of us."

Looks like we are the kings of the pool.

"No other challengers?" taunts Draven.

"Do you wanna play? It'll be fun." It's Annie, in her little-girl one-piece and a bathing cap with cute little wolf ears on it.

Draven grins. "Sure, why not. Who's your partner, shortstuff—Teemo? Or Tibbers? Whatever, just bring it."

Annie's partner is completely submerged as they rush us. When they miss and are forced to circle around, I find myself feeling sorry for whomever the kid forced to play. The feeling is short-lived. Suddenly, Annie starts rising from the water, revealing the identity of her partner on whose shapely shoulders she is perched, and I know that we are in trouble: Nami. As the Tidecaller grins, I feel something around my ankles and suddenly we are toppling backwards. Her tail may look delicate and weak in the air, but believe me, it's anything but in the water.

Draven and I are defeated. Again.

Later, after we have changed out of our pool gear, I ask my brother, "So, I forgot to ask: With whom are we dining?"

"Katarina and Cassiopeia. Good Noxians both. It's a double-double date: Two brothers with two sisters."

"Which sister do I get?"

"We'll toss a coin."

End of Chapter 1

Next: The Double-Double Date


	2. The Double-double Date

CHAPTER 2—THE DOUBLE-DOUBLE DATE (Draven & Cassiopeia + Darius & Katarina)

Although I am still in a pretty black mood while getting ready for dining out, as I look at myself in the mirror I have to admit that I look pretty impressive in formal wear. For that matter, so does my brother Draven, who is standing right beside me admiring himself as only a career narcissist can.

"Damn I look good," he says. "And you're not half bad. Man, I bet we don't even make it to the dessert before they can no longer keep their hands off of us."

"You're incorrigible, Draven."

"Not Draven: Draaaven," drawls my brother with a grin. We share a chuckle and head out for the restaurant.

The Institute of War is built on the site of an old caravanserai that was the northern terminus of the major north-south trade route from Shurima, and which later was a free city on the southwest border of Noxus. The new city—often just called New City—owes most of its modern infrastructure to the Institute of War.

We will be dining at fancy and somewhat exclusive place called simply The Oasis. It has the advantage of being willing to cater to champions of the League, with their varying body types and sizes, idiosyncratic or even murderous ways, and extreme personal power levels.

Such as Cassiopeia, who is a naga, with a snake's body where her legs should be. Cassiopeia was a terrible flirt before she was cursed, and still likes to play the vamp. Tonight she is dressed in a low-cut evening dress under a highly ornamented jacket.

"Well, hello handsome!" she says as we enter the restaurant.

"Hello, gorgeous," replies Draven, who assumes the compliment was meant for him. He strolls over and Cassiopeia hooks her arm into his.

"Looks like I'm stuck with you, Darius," says Katarina glumly.

"What, don't you trust me?"

"Sure, you are Mr. Reliable. So I can rely upon not having any fun."

Draven interjects, "Don't worry Kat—I've been coaching him since the last time."

"Too bad that won't make any difference," states Cassiopeia. "Katarina doesn't know how to have fun either."

Katarina gives her sister a dirty look.

Draven grins. "Maybe we should swap, brother. Cassiopeia can show you a good time, while Katarina can have some Draven."

"I thought we were here for dinner," I comment.

"Sure, but I am planning ahead."

"Fine, you do that."

We are seated and a waiter leaves a couple trays of appetizers. Rather than use her fingers or a fork, Katarina decides to use one of her large knives to spear herself a shrimp. Unfortunately she stabs so hard she hits the rim of the plate and flips it up, catapulting shrimp cocktail all over the front of my suit, and ruining my tie.

"You're an idiot," escapes from my lips before I can clamp them shut. "There is no need to show up for dinner armed for battle."

Katarina gives me a hostile look—more hostile than her usual surly—and says, "I need to be able to defend myself against jerks who are trying to pick me up and won't take no for an answer."

"I've never once tried to pick you up," I observe, "and I don't think tonight will be any different."

That wasn't the right thing to say. Katarina is now looking at me with outright hatred.

"You're an arrogant bastard, you should know that Darius. I think I'd rather make small talk with Sion."

"Good luck with that," laughs Draven. "Unless by small talk you mean exchanging screams of the damned and groans of agony. Hey, brother, just lose the jacket, tie, and dress shirt. I know I'm going to ditch mine at first opportunity."

The evening already seems to be heading for disaster, so I sigh, accept my fate, and strip to the waist. Now if Katarina flings any more food at me I can just wipe it off. Fortunately at The Oasis the dress code is rather broadly interpreted.

"Hey brother, I bet you are wishing now that you waxed your chest hair," laughs Draven.

"Don't be ridiculous. No self-respecting man waxes."

"Gladiators do. I do," responds my brother.

"How you manage to respect yourself is beyond me, frankly," I say.

"Must be natural talent," suggests Draven. "What amazes me is how you manage to constantly avoid having a sense of humour. If you had a sense of humour, you would actually be charming. Right Kat?"

The assassin is silent for a few seconds before replying, "I suppose, in the hypothetical, that could be true. I'll believe it when I see it though, because your brother doesn't look like he'll be changing his dour unforgiving outlook on life any time soon."

"Yeah, too bad," admits Draven. "Still, since when do you require a sense of humour in your men, Kat? Didn't you have a thing for that Garen fellow—he's the Demacian equivalent of Darius, to my mind."

"I am nothing like Garen," I insist, but both of the girls are quick to agree with Draven.

"Except that Garen is more sympathetic," adds Katarina.

"How can you prefer a Demacian?" I ask. "Surely you can find a Noxian to your taste. How about Talon, doesn't he have a major crush?"

"Ooh, yes, he sure does," exclaims Cassiopeia. "My sister is a bit stuck up though—she doesn't want to date the hired help."

Katarina and Cassiopeia are the daughters of a general, and Talon was one of the general's servants—with some interesting talents not found in just any ostler, groundskeeper, or cook. You might think that now that Talon has made good and become a Champion of the League, he'd be more acceptable, but apparently not.

"I am not stuck up. There are other reasons I don't want to date Talon," insists Katerina. Her sister rolls her eyes, tilts her head back, and delicately touches her nose with an index finger. Katerina responds hotly, "Stop that at once!"

Cassiopeia laughs. Teasing her sister is apparently one of her great joys in life. Draven leans forward and says, "I have an idea. A real Draven Special."

I groan. "And here I was thinking the evening couldn't get any worse."

Draven ignores the taunt. "You'll thank me soon enough, brother. I'm sure what I have to suggest is right up your alley. A contest. We all know how much you love to win. This will be your chance."

"This had better be better than your last Draven Special," I warned. "I still remember that you forced me to play you at chess. A complete and utter waste of my time. I'll have you know that I can give Heimerdinger a good game, while you are more at the level of Ziggs."

"Ha ha, who cares. That wasn't the point. Didn't you like the chess pieces?"

"What, you mean the fact that you staged the game on a patio with almost nude brothel girls playing all the pieces? As if that was likely to distract me in any way."

Draven and Cassiopeia break into uproarious laughter. When they finally stop, he turns to Katarina and says with a knowing wink, "THAT was the point."

My brother is so juvenile. I feel like walking out, but I can't let them see that they got to me.

"You should know, brother, that there are valid philosophies other than hedonism," I point out.

"I'm not a hedonist, I'm an epicure," retorts Draven.

"You're a what?" asks Cassiopeia, surprised to see such words in Draven's active vocabulary.

"As in, I don't seek just any old pleasures, I enjoy the finer things in life." Draven flashes his perfect teeth. "My brother Darius, he's also better than people think. He's no mere killjoy, he's a true stoic."

Katarina asks, "Why would you bother to study ancient philosophies, Draven? I don't figure you have any use for higher education."

Draven puts his arm around her shoulder and in a low, conspiratorial tone, informs her, "You figured wrong. The ability to appear educated is important—you can't pick up certain women without it."

"Ah! Of course, I should have known." Katarina shakes her head but manages to stop herself from facepalming.

Draven changes the subject, "Anyway, unless you've already decided that you need some Draven tonight, I suggest you listen to my idea for a contest." He looks at Katarina hopefully.

"You don't get it, do you?" says Katarina. "I already told you that I wouldn't sleep with you if you were the last Noxian man on Runeterra."

"Yeah, but that was several weeks ago," observes Draven pleasantly, never one to take rejection as final.

"Never mind my sister," interrupts Cassiopeia impatiently. "Tell us about your contest."

"I hope that it is more challenging that beating you at chess," I remind my brother. "The greater the challenge, the greater the pleasure I derive from beating it.

"OK, listen to this…"

End of Chapter 2

Next: The Contest


	3. The Contest

CHAPTER 3—THE CONTEST

"So, here's the idea," explains Draven enthusiastically. "All four of us are pretty notorious, or even infamous. We are Noxians, which means half the world would already consider us scum, and we are Champions of the League, known even in foreign countries, so we are the smiling face of evil, in their minds. Get this: each of us will have until midnight to convince some non-Noxian that we aren't actually so bad, in fact we are pretty charming…"

"I am already pretty damn charming," states Cassiopeia.

"…and trustworthy. Elise likes to say that she is irresistibly charming too, but can you trust her not to poison you and then feed you to her spiderlings?"

"Oh, get real Draven. We are Noxian warriors. We are not honourless monsters like some of the other champions," protests Katarina.

"Right, and if your acting is good enough you'll be able to make somebody believe that you aren't just waiting for him to drop his guard so you can stab him in the back with a large knife. Yeah, you might want to put those things away for this contest, sweetie. Your knives have a way of instantly convincing everyone who sees you with them that you are up to no good.

"Like I'm going anywhere without my blades. Dream on, Draven."

"Just saying…but feel free to give yourself the extra challenge. Your decision, Kat."

"So, brother, if I understand your contest, all I have to do to win is be more charming and trustworthy than the three of you. Is that right? That's your Draven Special?"

Draven shrugs. "Well, I had another idea that we could spend the evening doing impressions of one another. For example, I could pretend that I am Darius, getting shot down while propositioning Fiora at the ping-pong match yesterday."

Katarina sneers at me. "Your chances with that Demacian bitch are surely even less than Draven's chances with me, which are miniscule. You really are a masochist."

I protest, "I did no such thing. And where would be the fun in pretending that I am Draven? I've heard most of his pick-up lines so many times that I could recite them in my sleep."

"Why don't you try reciting them while actually trying to pick up, brother. That's what they're for, obviously," smirks Draven.

"Your first idea was lame, and this one is even lamer," comments Katarina.

"I don't know. I think I could do a great send-up of my sister and her hissy fits," says Cassiopeia.

"I do NOT throw hissy fits!" shouts Katarina, losing her cool.

"Do so. You're about to throw another one any second." Cassiopeia continues to taunt her sister.

"Anyone got a better idea? If not, we might as well try my contest…" suggests Draven reasonably.

I rack my brains but draw a blank. Hanging out with my brother must be draining my ability to reason. Might as well get it over with.

"Fine. I accept your challenge, brother. I will put on a cheerful and pleasant disposition, then disarm and charm the next non-Noxian I meet into trusting me. The three of you will put on the style but fail to convince, and I will win the challenge decisively. In fact, this contest is so uneven it will be a slam dunk."

"Think so? Well, good luck to you, then." Cassiopeia is grinning. "If you do win we'll be able to call you 'Dunkmaster Darius'. I think that sounds cute."

I hate cute, but I smile right back. I'm determined to demonstrate that I can be as nice as the next guy, if I really want to be.

"Am I allowed to charm Garen?" asks Katarina. "That shouldn't be too hard, he already likes me plenty."

"Well, why don't we say that current or ex-lovers are excluded from this contest. Otherwise I've already won hands down," says Draven. "And I don't want to give Darius any reason to think that the contest is fixed. So how about we all find somebody new to try to charm?"

"Fine." I agree.

Cassiopeia nods. "Agreed. And no yordles."

"Why not?" asks Draven.

"They are genetically gullible. And most of them are insanely impulsive. Which means that the first one of us to encounter a yordle would win just due to dumb luck," explains Cassiopeia.

"Fine. No lovers, no yordles. I'm in." Katarina twirls one of her larges knives in emphasis.

"Damn, I'm good. This is going to be the best Draven Special ever. Let's admire me for a bit," says Draven as his fingers check his hair and his moustache.

I stand up and get ready to leave.

"If you'll excuse me, I'm going to the bar to plot my strategy alone. I wish all of you all the success you deserve."

Cassiopeia and Katarina exchange glances, as if trying to figure out whether I was being sincere or whether I was just trying to be unnaturally friendly, as part of the contest.

Draven just grins stupidly. I know that he's thinking he can afford to give the rest of us a head start and still charm some unsuspecting girl out of her clothing in no time.

I hope he's wrong.

End of Chapter 3

Next: At the Bar


	4. At the Bar

CHAPTER 4—AT THE BAR

I sit at the bar and analyse Draven's contest. I have a growing suspicion that my brother, who values entertainment above winning, would happily lose the contest to me if I resort to his methods to win it. This would enable him to make capital of the situation. I can already hear him bragging:

"My pickup lines are so good they even work for my brother, hahaha…"

I resolve to triumph without resorting to any sort of Dravenism.

Unfortunately, shameless lying is also part of Draven's way with women, which means that I should restrict myself to honesty.

However, if I am too honest I will make it apparent that I have no real interest in true romance, because I am only doing this to prove something to my brother and to the other Noxians.

Hmmm. Grrr. I am hating this Draven Special already.

No point in delaying the inevitable. I'll just have to approach women until I can find one willing to listen to me. I'll be friendly and honest, and see if anything comes of the direct approach.

A woman in a very swank black evening dress is staring morosely into her drink at the other end of the bar. Great. I'll play the attentive listener, and see if I can cheer her up. I move in immediately. However, my mouth betrays me and I find myself saying:

"Pardon me, ma'am. My name is Darius, and I'm in the mood for some intelligent conversation, which I never get when I'm with my brother. May I join you?"

The woman straightens and turns to face me. Without a trace of warmth, she says, "What do you really want, Darius?"

She pronounces my name Dahri-oose. Strength for glory, it's Fiora. This could get ugly.

"I'm sorry, you must be waiting for somebody else. Whoever it is, he's one lucky man because you look stunning."

"Why aren't you wearing a shirt?"

"It's a long story, involving several idiots."

"One of whom is your loutish brother Draven. I loathe that man."

"I completely understand that. I'm not feeling a lot of love for him myself, at the moment."

"Vraiment? I thought that the two of you were inseparable."

"He's in the other room partying it up with Katarina and Cassiopeia. It was Katarina who was trying to show off her skill with knives but instead ended up ruining my suit jacket, shirt and tie. I'm done with them for now."

"I see."

I get the impression that she is politely waiting for me to leave. For some reason that annoys me and I resolve to stick around a little longer, to test her patience.

"I would like to congratulate you on beating me in lane the other day. With a victory like that, you should be the one smiling and I should be the one looking grim."

Fiora looks surprised, as well she should. As a general rule I keep praise to a minimum. She says nothing for a few seconds, while her eyes scan my face suspiciously for any trace of mockery. My smile, however, is up to the test. Eventually she mutters a thank you and returns to staring at her drink.

I decide to try to outwait her, hoping that she will lose her self-control and insult me. That would be satisfying. To pass the time I ask the bartender if he has any shirts in my size, knowing that the Oasis does sell merchandise to tourists.

Soon he returns with one and I put it on.

"How do I look?" I ask brightly.

"Like an arrogant Noxian tourist trying in vain to be cool," says Fiora coldly after barely glancing at me.

Inwardly I am laughing. Indulging in a little Demacian-Noxian rivalry is more fun than Draven's stupid contest.

"I could point out that most Demacian tourists are equally as arrogant and just as uncool in the eyes of most of the rest of the world, but I won't. I'm not looking for an argument over which of our countries exports the most attitude."

"What are you looking for then?"  
"I enjoy intelligent conversation, and my brother can't supply that. You could, if you could get past the fact that I'm Noxian."

"Please allow me to be blunt. I'm waiting for someone and I don't want to be seen with you."

"Please allow me to be equally blunt. I'm perfectly willing to make myself scarce, but before I do, may I comment that you've been sitting there looking unhappy for some time. I think your special someone has stood you up."

Fiora is actually pouting. Strength for glory, that's awesome.

After a few seconds of silence, I wonder if I pout like that when things don't go my way. I probably do…I decide not to rub it in any more.

"You know, Fiora, even though you are Demacian and I am Noxian, I do feel your pain. I've been stood up myself, more than a few times. And with my brother being the master of the casual meaningless intimate encounter, I really can't make him understand that his consolation advice always makes me feel even worse."

Again Fiora looks surprised. Obviously this side of me is something she never suspected existed.

"Just one toast and then I'll be on my way. Bartender! Set us up."

"This had better not be a Noxian trick…I'm not in the mood for a bad joke." says Fiora sceptically. But she accepts the drink and waits to hear the toast. I hope I can make it sound dramatic.

"To Success! May it soon reach out and sweetly caress us instead of lurking just out of sight around a corner in a dark alley."

"Well spoken. Santé." Fiora clinks my glass and downs her drink.

"Santé." I imitate her, but before I can slam my glass down on the bar a new voice is interrupting us:

"Demacia! What the Hell is going on here?"

End of Chapter 4

Next: The Newcomer


	5. Newcomer

CHAPTER 5—THE NEWCOMER

Fiora suddenly looks relieved and much happier. I turn around to see who has had this dramatic effect on her.

It's a woman I don't immediately recognize, but like Fiora, she's got coloured streaks in her dark hair, some red and some purple. She is also wearing a black dress, but unlike Fiora's all-black look, this woman has a very colourful scarf. She is also wearing red leather gloves that cover her forearms to the elbow, and a large garnet pendent that leads the eye to her cleavage.

She looks anything but pleased to see me. She gives me the evil eye as she declares:

"Don't bother trying to hit on the lady, blockhead—she's taken. You might as well hit the trail."

I don't take orders from anyone below the rank of general, so I stare her down. We both recognize each other at the same time.

"Darius!"

"Quinn!"

"You've got some nerve. As if any Demacian would give you the time of night." Quinn's hostility to Noxians is deep. I'm not sure why, and nor do I care, of course. But I will try to unsettle her without being rude.

"I have neither done nor said anything dishonourable. Furthermore, I am off duty and out of uniform, and am just trying to enjoy my evening. I'm not in the mood to exchange racist comments or talk politics. You look quite striking, I must say."

Quinn sputters and then, to my surprise, blushes. I continue, "I see that the warriors of Demacia go on double dates just like the warriors of Noxus. Who knew that we had something in common?"  
Fiora and Quinn exchange glances.

"I wonder if your dates for tonight are Demacian champions of the League? Let me guess…Fiora is waiting for Xin Zhao, because she only respects skill and he's one of the most skilled warriors in Runeterra. He mastered many weapons while a Noxian gladiator."  
"Xin Zhao was never a Noxian!" complains Fiora. "Your country forced him to fight for your entertainment."

I ignore her. "And Quinn…let's see…you are dressed to catch the eye, and whose eye do you wish to catch? Rumour has it that you have a big crush on Prince Jarvan. Is tonight the night you make your move?"

"You know nothing, Noxian!" exclaims Quinn angrily. "Why don't you shut your big mouth?"

Normally I'd respond to hostility with hostility, but I'm practising good manners and charm, so I just smile and agree.

"My apologies, ladies. It's true, I don't know a lot about your personal lives, and perhaps I was out of line to speculate. I'll be moving along now, but first I'd like to ask a small favour."

Both of them look at me in stunned silence. Either they are shocked by my good manners or by my asking for a favour, or both.

"We don't owe you anything, Darius," states Fiora eventually.

"Damn right," agrees Quinn, and she moves to Fiora's side.

"Hey, if you insist on arguing you will never get rid of me," I respond reasonably. "The favour I am seeking is merely advice. Nothing more."

"And why would a confirmed Demacia-hater like you, Darius, be looking for advice from a pair of Demacians?" asks Fiora as Quinn nods vigourously.

"I'm getting tired of being a jerk and I'm trying to become more charming and socially acceptable. What do you think?"

"I think you're doomed," volunteers Quinn with a sadistic grin. "A leopard can never change his spots."

"Thanks for the encouragement."

Fiora puts her fingers on Quinn's arm and says, "Wait, chérie, what if he is serious? Darius, whether or not you need to change will depend on what kind of person you are trying to charm. If you are looking to impress a woman who is naturally subservient, I would imagine that the arrogant stubborn certainty of your own superiority you project combined with your impressive physical strength would be successful more often than not, and you would have no need of advice. Since you ask…"

Quinn interrupts her. "…you must be trying to impress a strong-willed woman who won't tolerate your attitude for a second. She'll probably be either Noxian or from a degenerate nation friendly to yours, like Zaun, since you have never been known to fraternize with those who oppose your country. Perhaps also a champion of the League. Let me think…you probably don't need any help with Noxian women, since they would probably find your fanatic blind patriotism attractive—so let's say Zaun…Jinx is possibly insane enough to like you the way you are, and in any case any culture and social graces would be wasted on her, so she's not the reason you are seeking advice, and the only other female champion of Zaun is Janna. Janna, hah!"

"You don't think I have a chance with Janna? Why not?"

Quinn doesn't even hesitate. "Obviously, she's a mage, and you've never liked them. I'm sure it's mutual."

"He doesn't like scientists either," adds Fiora.

"Or necromancers, or pirates," nods Quinn.

"He's on record as not liking spies, assassins and thieves," recalls Fiora.

"He despises politicians," notes Quinn, but Fiora shakes her head.

"Let's not hold that against him, chérie. We all despise politicians."

"Well, Darius…what do you like?" demands Quinn.

"My axe."

Fiora is nonplussed and Quinn is openly contemptuous.

Fiora says coldly, "Darius, with an attitude like that you won't attract any type of woman."

"Maybe a lady weaponsmith," suggests Quinn dubiously. "Sorry, Noxian. I don't think it's in the cards for you."

This isn't exactly what I want to hear.

"But I'm trying to change!" My protest sounds lame even to me, and my tone of voice is becoming plaintive. It's time for me to move on. "Thank you for your advice. It is appreciated. I take my leave of you beauties and wish you both a pleasant evening."

I bow slightly and smile, although the smile feels forced. I'm really not good at smiling.

"It will be even better when you leave us alone," says Quinn, obviously eager to see the last of me.

"Chérie, behave," says Fiora. "Good evening, Darius. Remember: To success."

The Oasis probably isn't the best place for me to pursue victory in this Draven Special. I might have more success with someone who knows nothing about me and my personality. Apparently in my case, familiarity breeds contempt. As I leave The Oasis, much to the satisfaction of Quinn, she kisses Fiora on the cheek and whispers something I can't hear into her ear. Probably insulting me. As I ignore them, and step out into the night, I am reminding myself never to participate in another Draven Special.

End of Chapter 5

Next: Street Smarts


	6. Street Smarts

CHAPTER 6—STREET SMARTS

Where to next? Oasis is one of many establishments it what could be considered a nightclub district. It shouldn't be hard to find something that would be a target-rich environment, which would allow me to attempt a trial-and-error statistical repetition-unto-success approach to securing victory in the Draven Special. It's only a short walk to the nearby techno joint, Twin Gunblades, which has a reputation as a bit of a meat market. Might as well give it a try…

Overtaking me are two men walking briskly down the street while having an animated conversation in voices loud enough to be involuntarily overheard:

"Haha, that was pretty funny…"

"Yeah, like we're going to have anything to do with that crazy redhead with the knives."

"Yeah, as if…"

This sounds interesting. "Excuse me gentlemen, you just mentioned a crazy redhead with knives…"

"Well, if that's what floats your boat, buddy, you can probably get lucky tonight…"

"And by that, we mean, really unlucky, if you know what I mean."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean. Care to explain further?"

"Sure, why not. So, this redhead walked into the bar and asked if anyone wants to buy her a drink. She was pretty good-looking so…"

His friend interrupts him, "Actually, I'd say she was smoking hot. But then she turned and we saw the duelling scar." So, it is Katarina they are talking about.

"Girls like that are nothing but trouble. Although Doug here thought it added character."

"Character, yes. But I want to live to see tomorrow."

I ask, "And what made you think that you wouldn't?"

"Well, she was awfully impatient. When nobody volunteered to buy her a drink, she pulled out a knife and started twirling it around. "I'm waiting, boys. You don't want to keep a lady waiting—and I'm not feeling very patient tonight." But of course that wasn't very motivating."

"Pretty damn offputting if you ask me. I would imagine any man who wanted to sample her goods is going to lose a few fingers. I certainly wouldn't risk it," added Doug.

"Yeah, me neither," agreed his friend.

"So, anyway, she decided to change her strategy. She offered to buy any man present a drink, if he was willing to listen to her hard-luck story. She claimed to have a razor wit."

"She did have a couple of razor-sharp knives…"

I wonder if Katarina demonstrating herself to be a dangerous girl will attract the adventurous or merely discourage the men around her. I continue to listen politely.

"Here's the good part. This barfly called Joey, who's always a little short of funds, introduced himself and told her that he'd listen to her if she put away the knife. Guess what she said…"

"Dream on, Joey," I guess.

Both men look at me in shock. Doug asked me, "That's exactly right. Do you know this woman by any chance?"

"It's possible. A redhead with an attitude and large knives recently told my brother she wouldn't sleep with him if he were the last man on Runeterra," I admit. "But that was a couple of weeks ago."

"Did she have a duelling scar around her left eye?"

"I believe that she did, in fact. It must be the same woman. Small world," I observe. "Where did you see her?"

"Friendly Camel. It's a little hole-in-the-wall next to Oasis. Anyway, Joey asked the redhead what tragic hard-luck story she wanted to share, and she announced, "I'm surrounded by idiots." To which he replied, "Present company excluded?" "

I smile. I often feel that I am surrounded by idiots, and it's nice to know that I'm not the only one. It even makes me feel slightly more tolerant of Katarina.

"So Doug here just had to pipe up, "Present company included, I'd say." But that upset the babe."

"Yeah, she told us to shut up and get lost. So I asked, "Or what?" Can you guess what she said next?"

"No, but I'm guessing that it might have had something to do with knives?"

"Exactly right again. You're pretty smart, stranger. She said that she would tattoo 'idiot' on my forehead, both arms, and my left buttock," shouts an outraged Doug, as if he didn't care that the world knew that somebody thought he was an idiot. Of course, maybe he is an idiot and isn't ashamed of that.

"Now, I thought that would be no more than truth in advertising, but Doug here disagreed," stated his friend.

"Damn right. It's one thing to be a small-i idiot from time to time, it's another level of idiocy entirely to have it tattooed on your forehead. I'm not that much of an idiot," insisted Doug.

"My brother is. He waxes his chest," I comment.

"No self-respecting man waxes," scoffs Doug's friend.

"I tried it once," admits Doug.

"You're a big-I idiot, with a capital 'I'!" exclaims his friend.

"Well, at least I was smart enough to get us out of their before that tattoo artist babe started giving free demonstrations of her skill. You just know that wouldn't have worked out right," says Doug.

"True. Well, big guy, do you still want to meet the nutcase? The Friendly Camel is back there."

"I've changed my mind. But I'm pretty sure that my brother still wants to sleep with her."

"Well, you are obviously no idiot, but your brother is crazy."

I nod sagely in agreement. "I believe that you have managed to accurately assess the situation, Doug."

"Thanks. Anyway, have a good one."

"Yeah, you two have a good one too."

As the two men shamble off, I hear one of them saying, "Good one two. I like that…"

I continue on my way, thinking as I walk. Why is it so easy for me to bond with men with lesser minds, and so difficult to bond with women? It must be something to do with having to deal with Draven on a daily basis. I've learned to keep my expectations in check.

Therefore, if I keep my expectations of women low, I ought to be able to bond just as well with them. It's a good enough theory to work on, in any case. I'll try that.

End of Chapter 6

Next: Debonair


	7. Debonair

CHAPTER 7-DEBONAIR

The music is loud, and I've never been much of a fan of Piltover style, but I tune it out. I find a space at the bar with room for a guest on either side of me, order a drink—the special of the night being something called a Zaun Zombie—and start waiting.

Soon I am approached by a solidly built woman in her 20s, who is wearing a tight dress that isn't very flattering. I reflect that her thighs are too generous for the amount of exposure they are given by the rather scant hem of the dress, and that the dress itself is rather gaudy and not well-made. Fiora's perfect legs and classy little black dress were much closer to my taste. However, Fiora hates my brother, strongly dislikes me, and isn't here, while this woman is expressing interest, so I grin at her and motion to the empty stool beside me.

She totters closer and I can smell the alcohol on her breath. She delivers a rapid-fire string of questions:

"You wanna buy me a drink? Are you from Zaun? What are you doing?"

I think out loud: "Drink? Zaun, me?" as I simultaneously am annoyed to be taken for a citizen of that ugly city-state and am delighted to not be recognized as Darius, the legendary Noxian Killjoy.

The bartender immediately mixes and slides her a Zaun Zombie.

"You're too kind," smiles the woman as I send a questioning look to the bartender.

"Hey, you said, "Drink's on me," and we pride ourselves on our speedy service," comments the bartender. I shrug and drop some coin on the counter.

"So, what's your name, big guy?" asks the woman as she runs her hand up my arm to squeeze my bicep.

"My name is Dari…" and I stop, wondering if should in fact reveal my name.

"Darry, pleased to meet you. I'm Simone."

Darry is close enough. "Pleased to meet you too, Simone. Do you come here often?"

"Sure do. I love Piltover techno music, and the dance scene here is pretty sweet too. Do you like to dance?"

I decide to evade the question. "People who know me say that I'm very light on my feet for a big guy."

"What I like best is when they crank the music up until the beat becomes your heartbeat. Isn't that the best?"

My first instinct is to tell her that I quite disagree, and then I remember one of Draven's pickup lines, 'No, you are the best, babe,' and I am about to try it, but then I remember that I promised not to stoop to my brother's level. What comes out is:

"That is quite a rush, yes, but I'd like to be able to hear the intelligent things that you are about to say as well."

Simone giggles. "That's new. Most men just want to…you know what most men want…"

I nod, thinking of my brother, the so-called epicure. "First, they want you to tell them how awesome they are in every way. I don't need or even want you to do that."

Simone shakes her head. "No, not first, not right away. A few might want you to say that after though."

Ah. So that's how it is. "So, Simone, what do you do when you crave intellectual stimulation, and meaningful social intercourse?"

"Well, I guess that I prefer a little stimulation before intercourse, what woman doesn't?"

"For example, what exactly?"

She gives me a funny look. "It's a secret."

I nod sagely. "Of course it is. But you can tell me, I'm quite reliable and trustworthy. In fact, in my family I got approximately 100% of the reliability. My coworkers think so too." This is not a lie: didn't Katarina say that I was Mr. Reliable? I'm taking her out of context, but still…

"OK Darry," she says, and she leans close to whisper in my ear. "I like it when a guy blows in my ear and tickles my neck with his tongue." She breathes heavily into my ear to demonstrate. "Now you have to tell me how to stimulate you."

It occurs to me that she may have misheard me when I said 'intellectual stimulation' because what she is describing sounds more like foreplay to me. This is the problem when the music is too loud. Well, time to make my move.

"What I like most is when a woman says that I am charming and trustworthy, especially if they mean that sincerely, and best of all if they are willing to say it in front of my friends."

Simone shakes her head and says sympathetically, "Poor Darry. Your last woman really must have done a number on your self-esteem. Don't worry, big guy, I'm not the type of woman that loves to crush the fragile masculine ego."

"I'm not fragile," I insist. "I've survived the mad chaos of battle, withstood the fierce blows of mighty foes, and laughed death in the face."

Simone raises an eyebrow. "Of course you have, soldier boy. And I understand."

"You do? And by the way, I'm an officer."

"Sure. You've survived the wars because you trusted your comrades with your back, and you need to feel the same kind of reassurance from your woman. Got it. I've got your back, Officer Sir." She moves behind me so that I can no longer see her. My instinct is to keep her in front of me, but I know that she is testing me. I force myself not to swivel on the stool.

What happens next takes me by surprise. She throws her arms around me and hugs herself to my back hard so that I can feel the heat of her. I imagine that can feel the curves of her body. Naturally this distracts me, but on the other hand, I feel that I am closer to winning the Draven Special. As this thought cheers me up, I actually relax and smile. Somehow Simone senses this, and she whispers, as she breathes on the back of my neck:

"I feel that you feel that you can trust me."

"I hope the feeling is mutual. I'd like to feel that you feel that you can trust me, too."

She laughs, but whatever she was about to say is lost as a loud female voice cuts in.

"Hey! Hey, Simone! Guess what?" The words are somewhat slurred. This new woman, a short, curvy blonde, is apparently even more inebriated than Simone.

"What do you want, Lola? Can't you see that I'm busy?"

"But you can't be busy. You're my best friend, and I have to tell you something."

Female bonding in the civilian population has always confused me, which is one reason I tend to associate with military types. Simone releases me and says, "Fine. Darry, meet Lola. Lola, meet Darry."  
Lola looks me up and down with disapproval.

"Crackers, Simone. This guy is big and scary. Are you sure he isn't an axe murderer or something?"

It's true that I've killed a few with my axe, but it's not murder when the other guy is trying to kill you at the same time. I just shrug.

"Lola, you always talk trash when you're pissed, and you can't hold your liquor, but whatever. What is it that you have to tell me that couldn't have waited until later or even tomorrow?"

"There's a woman in the back room who just beat three men at arm wrestling, one after the other."

"Seriously, Lola? You interrupt me so that you can tell me about arm wrestling?" says Simone in an exasperated tone of voice.

Lola bursts into tears. She's a maudlin drunk. "Why are you so mean to me. We're best friends…"

Now Simone is rolling her eyes. "Sorry. I'm not being mean, so just get a grip, and calm down. Here, give me a hug."

As the women embrace, Lola wails, "I don't feel so good."

Simone steps back, saying, "Oh, no…not again."

Lola vomits all over the place, then collapses miserably over a barstool, coughing.

Simone looks nonplussed, although she successfully dodged the unfortunate event. Damn, what a mood-killer. Just when I thought this Draven Special was as good as mine, too…

Now a new voice behind me, a man's voice, asks, "Is everything going to be all right? Is there anything I can do to help?"

I know that voice, that polite, well-modulated, ever-urbane and somehow annoying voice. It belongs to Jayce, the so-called Defender of Tomorrow. He's a scientist and a champion of the League. I turn to face him. He's dressed in a white jacket, a white blouse with wingtips, a black bowtie, and a crimson waistcoat with gold buttons and embroidery. He's got a red rose in his buttonhole, and looks perfect from the waist up. Unfortunately, he is wearing gaudy silver spats over his boots which ruins the effect. It's really more than a little over the top, especially for a techno nightclub.

Simone starts with, "I might need some help getting her home…" but suddenly she is excitedly bouncing up and down. "Oh my oh my oh my! You're Jayce! I'm your biggest fan! My name is Simone."

"Pleased to meet you, Simone."

This new development spells danger. I had better try to make sure Jayce doesn't try anything that would interfere with my plans. I speak:

"Jayce, what a pleasant surprise. Why are you here and not burning the midnight oil in your secret laboratory?"

Jayce looks at me quizzically. "Good evening, Darius. That t-shirt suits you. I have heard that you are one of the most intelligent men that Noxus has to offer, so I would have thought it would be obvious to you why I am here."

"To pick up a casual encounter?"

Jayce frowns and shakes his head. "I'm disappointed in you, Darius. Of course that is not why I am here. I'm here for culture."

"Culture?" I look around but see nothing but a tacky nightclub. "Unless you mean the arm-wrestling in the back…"

Jayce shakes his head and laughs. "That? Just Vi trying to show off. Think, my friend: I am from Piltover, the City of Tomorrow. This club has the best live Piltoverian music scene outside of Piltover herself. Ergo, I am here to enjoy a touch of home. Culture, as I said before. Please do not ascribe base motives to a man of my intellectual capabilities, Darius."

"This club also has your greatest fans outside Piltover," reminds Simone. "Like me."

"Why, thank you, young lady. Now, would you like any help getting your friend home? I'd be happy to help—I wouldn't want anyone to think that I neglected my fans. Simone." Jayce then gallantly takes Simone's hand and kisses it. Piltover greetings, ugh.

"What about me?" I ask Simone.

She looks embarrassed. "You're a hunk and you seem pretty nice, Darry. But Jayce is a dreamboat and I've always dreamed of meeting him in the flesh, so I can't waste this golden opportunity. Maybe some other time. C'mon handsome, let's go."

There was something almost sordid in the way she said the words flesh and opportunity.

"Now, before I carry your friend safely home, you have to promise me that you won't try to take advantage of me, young lady. I've got a reputation to uphold."

"Absolutely, Jayce. I promise that I won't be all over you, but I might get a little closer, once we are out in that dark, dangerous night. Just for safety's sake." And Simone smiles what to my mind seems a slightly predatory smile.

"Very well. Good evening, Darius. If you are also a fan of Piltoverian music, we'll have to take in a concert some time." And the annoying scientist extends his hand. In all sincerity, no less.

I force myself to shake it. "Yes, some other time, Jayce. Stay safe."

I watch as Jayce picks up the little blonde, Lola, and walks out with her in his arms, and with Simone hanging off his elbow. Everything happened so fast, I'm almost stunned. I think I've just seen a real-life example of debonair in action.

What next? The current score seems to be: Draven Special 1, Darius 0. I'm tempted to go to the back room and wrestle Vi, just so that I can win something tonight, but that would probably waste too much time—it would be like giving up on my brother's contest. And I'm not going to let some random woman crush my fragile male ego.

I need someplace where I can think without being disturbed. There must be a quiet coffeeshop around here. I'm going to give it one last try. I'm sure that I'm running out of time. Even though he is giving the rest of us a head start, Draven is a grandmaster at taking advantage of women and I can only assume that he'll soon be doing what he does best. However, human relationships are crazy, unpredictable things, and perhaps Draven's luck will desert him tonight.

I get directions to a coffeeshop from the bartender. Then, I leave a tip on the bar, and making sure that I don't step in the vomit, leave Twin Gunblades for hopefully greener pastures.

End of Chapter 7

Next: Misery Loves Company


	8. Misery Loves Company

CHAPTER 8—MISERY LOVES COMPANY

The quiet of the coffeeshop is a relief after the noise of the nightclub. There are few patrons and none are being obtrusive. I take a few deep breaths and take stock of my situation.

First, the resentment that I feel, it's counterproductive. There is no point in resenting the Draven Special itself, as nobody forced me to participate. There is no point in resenting Draven for suggesting it, because unlike chess, charming the women is something totally in character for him, and I'm sure that he's off enjoying himself right now, like the hedonist he is.

To be honest, the only person to blame for how I feel right now is me. I want to think that I could be as charming as the next man if I was interested in exerting myself. However, I have been exerting myself, and I haven't exactly been charming anyone. Why is that, I wonder.

Perhaps, it is because I am missing something. Do I look too intimidating? No, if that were the problem then Draven would be unable to charm people, as he is at least as physically intimidating as I am. But somehow Draven is able to disarm women. It's not that he's trustworthy or reliable either. He makes them feel special, even when they are just another conquest for him.

That's it! Being charming is not just being witty and friendly, it's making people feel relaxed and better about themselves when you are around.

What works against me is my assumption that I am better than everyone around me. I don't consider it to be arrogant to be superior to others, when I can demonstrate that superiority at any time. Somehow men put up with that, but I guess women are different.

So, I need to make a woman feel special and at ease with me, and I could do that by considering her not to be my inferior, which would likely be a first for me. I wonder if I am actually capable of such open-mindedness.

It would help if I met a woman I actually know to be my equal, but the odds of that are pretty small. I hunch over my coffee, hoping the fumes will inspire me.

"May I join you, Dahri-oose?" asks a woman in a black evening dress as she gracefully slips into the chair opposite me.

"Fiora! Strength for glory, I didn't expect to see you again this evening. How was your date? Was it Xin Zhao after all, and was he a no-show?"

"Xin Zhao was not my date, no. My date did show, but things didn't work out. How about you? Have you made any progress in deploying your newer, kinder, gentler side?"

"Not so far, no. Success has eluded me."

"Me also. It is still lurking out of sight around the dark corner, as you put it earlier."

"What do you want from me, Fiora? It's not as though we are allies or even friends."

"I just need a little intelligent conversation. My date couldn't supply that. You could, if you could get past the fact that I am Demacian and that I can beat you in lane more often than not."

I am stunned. She's using my own words against me, riposting verbally just like she does physically when we match blades.

"I don't mind that you are Demacian tonight. I'm off-duty. And if I'm not enough of a challenge for you in lane, I'll raise my game next time we meet on Summoner's Rift."

"Vraiment? You would do that for me?" Suddenly I see the ghost of a smile quirk her lips, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

"I can and I will. Now, if it isn't too personal, what is bothering you?"

"I'm having relationship problems and I don't feel that I can get any help from my fellow Demacians. They all think that I am too stuck-up for my own good, always nose-in-the-air."

"Do you feel that this is an accurate assessment?"

"No, of course not. I just have expectations, both of myself and of the others around me."

"I understand completely. I often feel the same way."

"And I expect that my romantic partners at least try to meet my expectations, and it annoys me when I think that they cannot be bothered to understand me."

"Same here. Although I don't have romantic partners normally, but certainly my brother makes me feel annoyed for the same reasons."

"Demacia! Is it too much to ask for, just a little consideration for me and my feelings. Of course I have feelings, even if I conceal them well." Her eyes flash and suddenly I feel honoured that she is willing to share her feelings with me.

"Me, I'm actually afraid to let people know I have feelings," I admit.

"I'm not sure what I should do next," says Fiora glumly. "I must tread lightly, or I'll make the situation worse."

"Who was your date, if I might be so bold? I can't advise you if I don't know."

Fiora looks at me with amusement. "You really haven't figured it out? Let me give you a hint. I'm ambidextrous, and I can fight with either hand. The same with my romances."

Ambidextrous romances. What does that mean exactly…the light goes on and my jaw drops. "You mean…Quinn was your date?"

Fiora looks me straight in the eye. "Of course."

"Forgive me for thinking out loud, but as I recall, she was completely into you, possessively even. I'm not seeing the problem yet."

"Quinn is a ranger, totally an army brat, used to operating alone, with only a bird to talk to. She doesn't like dressing up, going to cultural events, talking philosophy, or anything like that. I do. She doesn't enjoy mixing with high society. I do."

It's so obvious now. "Opposites attract. Familiarity breeds contempt. She's different, maybe unique even."

"Yes, that's correct. At times I really envy her her freedom, and her ability to speak her mind and her heart. Myself, I often see romance as a form of fencing, where one must guard the heart at all times, and she doesn't like that."

"There has to be more to your troubles than that, Fiora. Quinn is a ranger, so she possesses a hunter's patience. I'm sure that she's willing to wait for you to eventually open up. What else isn't working?"

"I'm a little intolerant of her lack of social graces. I know I shouldn't be, but I can't help it, good manners are something I respect and even insist on."

"Ah, I understand. I'm the same way about responsibility. I try to tolerate irresponsibility, but it usually get the better of me."

"I may have said something—politely of course—that Quinn found hard to accept."

"Maybe so, but my instincts—not to be relied upon where women are concerned of course, but still—my instincts say that she does want to please you, desperately, but she doesn't know how. She'll be willing to learn some manners from you."

Fiora looks at me sharply, "Do you really think so, Darius?"

"I do think so. She was dressed to kill this evening, and I'm sure that was only to please you. She'll be trying hard in other ways too, but maybe you expect too much, too fast—one can only learn some things over time. Just look at me as another example of that. I'm trying to learn to be more approachable."

"You can do it Darius. Don't give up," says Fiora sincerely, and I am moved.

"Unfortunately, my brother wants me to do it all in one night. I see now that so much progress in so little time was never meant to be. I'll just have to accept defeat," I comment wryly, as I realise that I may actually be changing. Normally I cannot accept defeat without raging, but this time I might just.

"Not defeat: Reculer pour mieux avancer."

"Which means?"

"Retreat to better advance."

I smile. "I like it when people explain things in military terms. I understand those so much better. Say it again, please."

"Reculer pour mieux avancer."

"Ruhcoolay poor meyouz avansay."

She laughs with delight. I continue, "You should try the same. I'm guessing that Quinn is too proud for her own good, even if she likes to play the humble soldier from time to time. So you will have to encourage her to take baby steps into your society, without being too impatient or critical."

"Yes, Darius, I believe you to be in the right. I have been too impatient and critical of her, and even if the unfortunate situation is mostly due to her overreacting, I will apologise and try to calm her down, so that we may start again."

"This is a novel idea, apologising for something which isn't your fault."

"Novel for you perhaps." Fiora's eyes are dancing. It's clear that she is no longer treating me as an enemy. Maybe we'll even be able to stay friends. I think I would like that.

Suddenly, my thoughts are interrupted by a voice with which I am intimately familiar, and which couldn't be more unwelcome at this time.

"Well, look at what we have here, a pair of lovebirds," grins Draven. "Darius, I didn't think you had it in you. Congratulations, brother."

"Oh, look, Darius is blushing," adds Cassiopeia as she laughs out loud.

"I'm sceptical, myself," states Katarina flatly. "I don't for a minute believe that Demacian ice queen trusts Darius or finds him the slightest bit charming."

There is a long pause as Fiora sizes up the new arrivals and I struggle to retain my composure. Am I really blushing? That would be a first…

End of Chapter 8

Next: Endgame


	9. Endgame

CHAPTER 9—ENDGAME

"It is time for me to leave you," says Fiora, and she stands up. I stand as well. She leans in and kisses me on each cheek. "Thank you very much for your time, Darius. I'm glad I trusted you."

She walks to the door, where she stops briefly and says over her shoulder, "We'll talk again soon."

Draven addresses her with a grin as only an experienced idiot would: "Great legs, babe. And by the way, if you see Vayne, say 'hi' to her from me."

Fiora compresses her lips, but remains calm as she replies, "Manners, Monsieur Draven…you should try to learn some. One does not call the head of a Demacian noble house merely 'babe'."

Draven raises an eyebrow, but he is still smiling as he replies, "Sorry, my mistake. Should one say, 'noble babe', 'babe lady' or maybe 'noble babe lady'?"

Fiora sniffs and glares at him coldly. "Hopeless." She makes eye contact with me. "Good night, Darius."

Then she is gone.

"Good riddance," exclaims Katarina. "I've never liked that bitch."

Draven orders coffee, then drops into the seat just vacated by Fiora and asks me, "So, how did you like this Draven Special, eh? Was it more interesting than beating me at live chess?"

"Honestly, brother, it wasn't very enjoyable, but…it was interesting and it led to an evening I'm not likely to soon forget."

"Thank you, it's great to be great," says Draven as he pats himself on the back, completely ignoring the first half of my sentence. "Please join us, ladies."

"Nice t-shirt, Darius," says Cassiopeia. "Did it work better than the suit jacket and tie as a chick magnet? I saw you going in to Twin Gunblades, and I said to myself, good call…go big or go home."

"Inquiring minds gotta know," demands Draven. "And Katarina, I saw you tried your luck at Friendly Camel. C'mon, dish."

"All the men in Friendly Camel were losers," states Katarina. "I hate to say it, but I think I would rather take my chances on Draven than any of those lowlife dogs."

"Oooooh!" says Draven. "I'm tempted, I really am…"

"So, my sister failed completely to wow the men. I'm not surprised, actually," comments Cassiopeia as Katarina sneers at her. "How about you Darius?"

"Things went rather well. I made the acquaintance of a young woman called Simone, and things were moving quickly. At one point she draped her body over mine and told me that she could feel that I trusted her. I swear that I thought the next thing out of her mouth was going to win me the Draven Special…"

"But it didn't, did it brother?" states Draven. "What happened?"

"Her best female friend showed up, puked all over the place, and ruined the moment. Then, before I could resume the budding romance, who should show up but Jayce. Next thing I know, she's gone gaga for him and is walking out on his arm."

Draven shakes his head. "Oh, that Jayce, what a rascal. He used his home field advantage to deny our boy here the victory. But my brother Darius, of course, is dauntless and refuses to give up, and just for the additional challenge, decides to put the moves on a Demacian champion. Well played, sir."

It is often unclear exactly to whom Draven is speaking. In this case, to an imaginary audience, perhaps.

Katarina immediately and vehemently disagrees. "She took a rain check. That doesn't count. Darius hasn't won the contest yet."

"Have any of you?" I ask mildly.

"Nope," admits Draven cheerfully. "Cassie and I decided to follow you and Katarina respectively, so we haven't won either."

"Well, I'm going to win right now," says Katarina.

Everyone looks around but there don't seem to be any targets of opportunity, and Katarina doesn't look to be walking out in search of new prey.

"I don't think so, sister," says Cassiopeia. "Unless by right now you mean after three or four more hours of humiliating rejection."

"Nope, right now. I'm going to charm the pants off of Draven. And he's going to accept my advances because he knows damn well if he wastes this golden opportunity he's not going to get another, ever." Katarina looks defiantly at her sister with an air of triumph.

Silence reigns around the table at this bold announcement.

I wonder what is going through my brother's hedonistic little brain at this point. It's well known that he has wanted to sleep with Katarina for a long time but that she has never been even close to reciprocating that interest. She still doesn't, unless I'm dead wrong, but like the rest of us, she hates to lose. Rumour has it that during her service as an agent of Noxus she has been used several times in honey traps, so she might well be experienced in showing affection to men who interest her not at all.

"Oooooh yeah, this handsome soldier can hardly believe his ears. Did Katarina just say that she wants some Draven? No, not Draven, some Draaaven? You'd better say it again, doll, because otherwise I don't think I'll be able to trust you mean what I think I heard you suggest." Draven is grinning from ear to ear.

"You heard me. I said I'm going to charm your pants off, you oversexed hunk of man, and I don't think that you're going to say no."

"I don't think that I'm going to say no either," admits Draven. "Can I trust you to pay for a hotel room, or shall we just go back to your place?"

Katarina protests, "Why should I pay for the room, when you are the one who wants it the most?"

"Charm and trust were both conditions for the win, as I recall," reminds Cassiopeia. "Don't you want him to trust you?"

Katarina gives her sister a dirty look. "Fine, I'll pay for the room. Do you trust me now?"

Draven strokes his moustaches as he considers. "Almost. I want you to kiss me now, as a token of our mutual lust. Otherwise I don't trust you enough to not just disappear as soon as we declare you the winner of the Draven Special."

Katarina is outraged, so much so that I suspect that was exactly what she was planning to do before Draven called her on it. She has her hands on her hips and is radiating hostility.

"Your move, sister," smirks Cassiopeia as Draven opens his arms wide and flashes his perfect teeth.

"Fine, whatever." Katarina advances into Draven's embrace, puts her arms around his neck, and kisses him.

She's good. She's very good. If I didn't know the two of them already, if I were just a passerby, I'd be totally convinced that she was desperately in love with him. Naturally, he's very good also. He's kissing her as if it is going to be the very last time he sees her.

The other patrons, previously completely disinterested in us, are now staring, unable to look away. One man has actually broken into a sweat.

Cassiopeia begins to clap.

Eventually, they break it up, and Katarina steps back in triumph. "So, have I won this Draven Special or haven't I?"

Draven looks sheepish. "Well, I'm convinced. I must admit I didn't think she would do it."

"I don't think it was easy for her. I hate to lose, but that was pretty convincing," I say. No point in being a sore loser.

A sudden silence and we all look at Cassiopeia.

"Admit it, sister, this time I've won," states Katarina.

Cassiopeia shakes her head emphatically, no. "I'm afraid not, sister. You have forgotten the conditions of the contest: No past lovers, no Yordles, and NO NOXIANS!"

"What!" shouts Katarina in anguish.

"Sooo sorry, sister, but you kissed Draven for nothing." Cassiopeia tries to keep a straight face, but soon breaks into laughter as Katarina's face turns red, then purple.

"That was so good, I'm hoping we'll do it again even without the contest," says Draven.

"Dream on, Draven!" Katarina almost spits the words out.

"Wait a second, I'm having a thought," I say, excitement rising.

All eyes are instantly on me. I continue, "If we were willing to accept that kiss as proof of trust and with more to follow, then I respectfully suggest that Fiora demonstrated that she likes me and trusts me. After all, she not only kissed me but also stated that we would see each other again."

Cassiopeia, probably to spite her sister, immediately agrees with me. "That's right! We saw her kiss him, and he didn't even have to ask. And she clearly said she trusted him, and also that she would see him again—soon, according to her."

"Sister, you are a real piece of work, from tongue to tail," states Katarina bitterly.

"Thank you. I vote we declare Darius the winner, what do you think, Draven?" Cassiopeia turns to my brother.

"At risk of blowing my chances for another legendary kiss from the hottest Noxian redhead ever, I'm going to have to agree with Cassie. I did clearly state that we had to charm a non-Noxian, and everybody agreed to the terms. Sorry, sweetheart." Draven apologises.

I turn to Katarina. "What do you say, Assassin of Noxus? Will you admit that I was doing better than you expected with Fiora? If you don't I'll understand."

Katarina takes a few deep breaths. "Darius, I will concede this contest to you. Not because I think that you'll have any long-term success trying to melt that annoying block of ice, because I don't. No, it's because unlike those two clowns, who didn't even try to win, and unlike me, who tried to swindle a win, you actually tried to win honestly. Strength for glory, you are the only one who demonstrated Noxian pride and honour tonight. Congratulations, Darius."

Cassiopeia smiles as she says, "I don't often agree with my sister, but I think she is dead on this time. You deserve the win."

Draven nods, grinning hugely. "I agree with Katarina too. Congratulations, brother! This Draven Special belongs to you."

I am beaming, and full of pride and joy as I bow, accepting the decision of my fellow champions.

Victory! At last, victory!

End of Story

Thank you for reading my fanfiction. If you want more Katarina, please read Doppelgangers, a comedy play of mistaken identities. If you want more Draven, please read Haunted Inn, a ghost story. If you want more Piltover, please read Triptych, a day in the life of Vi, Caitlyn and Jinx.

If you would like to see some other League of Legends characters entirely, please suggest a scenario for my next story—like Darius, I enjoy challenges.

Sincerely, Cavebear


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